


Unexpected (but Not Unwelcome)

by mithrilbikini (liasangria)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:43:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liasangria/pseuds/mithrilbikini
Summary: Bilbo returns from the market one day to find an unexpected guest in his home.And then it keeps happening.





	Unexpected (but Not Unwelcome)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crueltyland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crueltyland/gifts).



It all started, Bilbo thinks, just before he left Erebor, with those fateful words:

_“Tea is at four, don’t bother knocking.”_

He never seriously thought any of them would take him up on his offer. After all, they had a kingdom to rebuild and dead to mourn. Not to mention the incredible distance between the Lonely Mountain and the Shire. 

He’d traded letters with most of the remaining Company, of course, though Balin and Bofur were his only regular correspondents. Balin filled him in on the latest news of Erebor and Dale, how the rebuilding was going, and how Dáin was settling in as King Under The Mountain. Bofur mostly regaled him with tales of mining, a subject Bilbo would never have thought to find interesting at all, had Bofur not had a knack for spinning an entertaining story out of nothing. His letters were often interspersed with dirty jokes, silly limericks, and crude drawings. 

After a few years, it became clear that his open invitation to Bag End was considered nothing but a polite formality, and not something that anyone would actually follow through with. Bilbo came to this conclusion with what might have been relief, or maybe disappointment. 

Few Dwarves had a taste for traveling, after all, especially since they had wandered homeless for so many hard years.

Still, at odd moments, his eyes would linger on that old map, and he’d catch himself almost wishing for something to break the monotony of orderly Shire life. 

Or perhaps, if he’s being more honest with himself, it’s company he was wishing for. And not the polite, mundane, _utterly dull_ company of his fellow Hobbits, most of whom still regard him as something of an oddity. His wealth allowed for him to be considered eccentric, rather than simply mad, but as time wore on, he became more reclusive, and less willing to endure the banal and polite banter of his neighbors and family.

And so, long after he’d given up hope that any of his friends would ever visit in person, he comes home from the market one evening in mid-autumn to find a very unexpected Dwarf reclining in his (his!) favorite chair. There’s a fire merrily crackling in the fireplace, and Bilbo’s more than a little shocked. He drops his shopping basket and distantly registers the tell-tale crunching sound of broken eggshells. 

It’s Nori. 

Bilbo is momentarily struck speechless. Of all his friends, Nori is the one he’d least expected to come calling. The Dwarf has definitely made himself at home (and from the smell of it, helped himself to some of Bilbo’s stash of Old Toby), lounging with an artful casualness sideways in the chair, one of his legs slung over the cushioned arm, a pipe in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other. 

“Well, if it isn’t our esteemed burglar!” he says, holding up the tankard like he’s toasting him. Nori says it as if it were Bilbo intruding in _his_ home, not the other way around. The Dwarf favors Bilbo with a cheeky grin, “You did say ‘don’t bother knocking,’ yeah?”

Bilbo is caught between indignant sputtering at this… this… _blatant home invasion_ , and embarrassment at having a guest in his house when he hasn’t so much as tidied up. He realizes he’s still got his mouth open like a fish out of water and shuts his jaw with a snap. 

“I wasn’t… wasn’t expecting company…” Bilbo says, still trying to gather his bearings.

“Few people expect me,” Nori replies with a wink, and he downs the rest of the ale in one gulp. 

Bilbo lets out an exasperated sigh, and mentally takes back his wish for Dwarven company. 

***

Nori ends up staying for tea, and then supper. They talk long into the night, reminiscing over old times. Everything that seemed so dark and dangerous and miserable at the time has been softened by a patina of nostalgia. Bilbo almost finds himself longing to see the snowy peaks of the Misty Mountains, and the dark, shadowy paths of Mirkwood again. 

Nori is laughing over Bilbo filching the keys to the Elvenking’s dungeons from the drunken guard. They’re sitting in front of the fire, in the armchairs where his parents once sat, enjoying a goblet of wine, and it feels so easy. So natural. 

“The looks on all your faces when I showed you the barrels!” Bilbo laughs, “You all stared at me like I was mad!” 

“Most of us thought you were, at that point. Thought the lack of food and warm beds finally made you crack,” Nori replies, with a snicker. 

“But it worked,” the Dwarf continues, softly, “I’ve been in plenty of sticky situations but never would I have considered escape by empty wine barrel as an option!” 

Nori’s eyes are alight with something akin to admiration as he looks at the Hobbit. Bilbo thinks the wine must be going to his head, making him flush like that under the Dwarf’s gaze. He makes a grab for the wine bottle and finds it much lighter than he’d expected. His surprise must’ve shown on his face because Nori raises a braided eyebrow.

“Is something the matter, Mister Baggins?” he asks. 

“The most dreadful thing, Mister Nori,” Bilbo says, mournfully, tipping the wine bottle upside down over his goblet, “we seem to be out of wine.”

There’s a pause, and the air feels charged, electric. 

Abruptly, they both break into helpless laughter.

It’s getting on late, or early, rather, and Bilbo is surprised at how quickly the time has flown in the Dwarf’s company. 

They finish their glasses of wine and Bilbo shows Nori to one of the guest bedrooms. 

***

Nori is gone by the time Bilbo rises. 

He tries not to be disappointed, and fails miserably. It had felt so good to have someone to talk to about things other than the weather, or gardening, or when he’d ‘find a nice lass and settle down.’ Someone with whom he’d shared an adventure. 

They’d stayed up talking so late that Bilbo slept right through first breakfast, and almost missed second. Nori must have business elsewhere, and had simply decided to drop by on his way through before setting off again. Bilbo doubted the thief came all this way to just pay their old burglar a visit. 

That thought is accompanied by the reminder of Nori’s own…calling, and Bilbo makes a mental note to inventory his good silver. 

He’s currently nursing a vicious morning-after headache, and, after staring for probably too long into the very vacant guest bedroom, he heaves a sigh. He scrubs his hands through his hair, and makes his way to the kitchen. A cup of willow bark tea and some toast is in order. 

***

It’s midwinter, nearing Yule, when Bilbo finds his unexpected guest once again sitting in his armchair. This is perhaps even more alarming than the first time, as Bilbo had been looking for a book in one of his spare rooms, and is on his way back to the study when he glimpses the familiar Dwarf lounging in front of the fire in the parlour. 

Bilbo lets out an undignified yelp in surprise and drops the book on his toe. Nori watches with undisguised glee as Bilbo hops on one foot and curses fluently in both Common and Elvish. 

The thought that Nori entered his home while _he was in it_ and completely _unaware of this fact_ is more than a little disturbing. Bilbo reminds himself that Nori is a thief, and has no doubt plenty of experience in entering people’s homes silently. Then again, Bilbo himself isn’t exactly innocent in that regard, either, having used the ring to do the exact same in the Elvenking’s halls and a dragon-infested Erebor. Not to mention all the times he’s slipped on the ring to evade the Sackville-Bagginses. 

So instead of reprimanding the Dwarf, he simply stoops to pick up his book. 

“Would you like some tea?” Bilbo asks, long-ingrained manners taking over.

Bilbo can see snow melting on Nori’s clothes and in his tri-peak hair. Puddles of water are forming beneath his boots, Bilbo notes with a grimace. 

“I’d love some,” Nori replies, stretching, “I could use a bit of thawing out.” 

Bilbo doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He just makes his way to the kitchen, setting the book on the table, and starts to prepare tea and a light snack.

He turns around, ready to take a plate of cheese and bread into the parlour and gets another shock as Nori is _right there_ behind him. Bilbo nearly drops the plate, but Nori smoothly takes it from his fumbling hands with a smirk. Most Dwarves can’t help but make their presence known, even when they’re trying to be quiet. Bilbo had long ago concluded that silence is not something that comes naturally to them, as a race. 

But then again, Bilbo silently amends, Nori isn’t like most Dwarves. 

***

The winter night comes with a cold, howling wind that whips through the Shire and sends snow pattering against the tightly shuttered windows. Bilbo is glad that he and his companion are safe and warm in their customary chairs, basking in the light of a roaring fire, drinking cups of mulled wine and dining on spiced pork and apple pasties. 

This time, Nori is the one regaling him with stories of his exploits in the Blue Mountains before the Quest, and Bilbo is laughing so hard tears are streaming down his face. 

“Imagine the look on Dwalin’s face when he sees me, the notorious thief he’s been trying to catch for decades, show up at Thorin’s call! Signing onto the Quest meant we’d be working together, and there’d be no arresting me ever again if we successfully reclaimed Erebor,” Nori says, “See, with Glóin’s help, I’d managed to work that little bit into my contract, and there was naught the Captain of the Guard could do about it! Looked ready to spit nails, he did.” 

Nori drains the last of his wine, while Bilbo wipes tears of mirth from his eyes. He hasn’t laughed that hard since… well, since the last time Nori was here, Bilbo realizes. 

He doesn’t know what to make of that revelation, so he mentally pushes it aside for now. 

Bilbo sets his empty plate on the small table between their chairs. He reaches for his wine cup, but at the same time Nori does, too. Nori’s hand closes over Bilbo’s, and Bilbo freezes, feeling his eyes widen and a warmth that has nothing to do with alcohol suffuse his face. The expression Nori is wearing is not one Bilbo can decipher. 

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a moment, before Nori releases Bilbo’s hand. 

“Thought if you weren’t going to finish that, I’d help you out,” Nori says, gesturing to Bilbo’s cup and favoring him with half a smile. Something about that statement doesn’t ring true for Bilbo, but he lets it slide. This is probably yet another attempt at knocking him off-balance. The Dwarf seems to have made a game of trying to unsettle him. 

Bilbo clears his throat and pointedly finishes off his wine, setting the cup down with a thunk on the wooden table. 

“So is that why you decided to go along,” Bilbo asks, “because you’d receive a full pardon for your crimes?”

Nori gives him another inscrutable look, “That’s part of it,” he says. 

“And what’s the other part?” 

Nori doesn’t respond immediately. The fire crackles and snaps, sending sparks flying. The light casts a warm golden glow over his friend’s face, but Bilbo can’t read his expression. 

The pause is bordering on awkward, and Bilbo regrets asking. 

“Thorin,” Nori replies, finally, his smile soft and tinged with sadness. 

Bilbo doesn’t know how to respond to that. He wants to ask so many questions, but doesn’t even know where to begin. He doesn’t want to cross a line, and wreck this new, delicate friendship with Nori. He quickly goes over his memories of the quest, trying to remember if there was any evidence of Nori and Thorin being… involved. He’s not coming up with anything. 

“Oh, it wasn’t what you’re thinking, burglar,” Nori says, breaking him out of his racing thoughts, “Sure, he cut quite the striking figure, I’ll admit, but more than that there was a...a _nobility_ about him. Made you want to follow him to the ends of the Earth, and I definitely wasn’t immune.”

“That, I can agree with,” Bilbo admits, quietly. 

There’s another pause.

“He certainly liked to hear himself talk, though,” Bilbo says, finally. 

That startles a laugh out of Nori, and leaves Bilbo feeling like he won this round. 

 

***

There’s never any pattern to Nori’s visits, Bilbo learns. The only thing that stays consistent is that he shows up in the evening like a shadow, and leaves before the next morning like a thief. There isn’t a specific day, or time of year. Sometimes he’ll show up twice in a month, and sometimes it’ll be half a year before Bilbo sees him again. Bilbo has lost track of how many times Nori has dropped by. He dares think he’ll someday be used to his friend’s comings and goings, but somehow he’s taken by surprise every time.

*** 

“Balin is organizing an expedition to Khazad-dûm,” Nori says, by way of greeting, one fine spring day in late Astron. He’s sitting in the chair by the fireplace (a chair Bilbo has come to presumptuously think of as “Nori’s”). Bilbo has just come home from the market, and wasn’t expecting him, as it had been nearly a year since the Dwarf’s last visit. Moreover, it’s early afternoon, far earlier in the day than Nori has ever graced him with his presence before.

Bilbo sets his shopping basket on the floor and carefully closes the door before turning back to his unexpected guest. At least he didn’t drop the eggs this time, so Bilbo counts that as a win. 

Nori hasn’t lit a fire, and is instead sitting in the dark. Bilbo can smell the acrid scent of Dwarven pipe-weed, and wrinkles his nose. _Dwarves._ Nori’s got his own pipe-weed this time, and hasn’t helped himself to Bilbo’s stash of Old Toby. Bilbo counts that as a win, too, despite not being clear on the rules of this particular game between them. Sometimes he thinks he might be the only one playing. 

“Óin is going with. And so is Ori,” Nori continues, carefully, without inflection. He takes another drag of his pipe and the sharp scent of tobacco fills the air once more. 

Bilbo has heard the stories of Khazad-dûm. Moria, as most people call it. There’s tell of something worse than a dragon lurking in the depths of those ancient Dwarven halls. He wants to ask if Dori had any objections to Ori going. If Nori did. If Nori considered going with. Bilbo wants to ask why Nori is here, in Bag End, when he could be spending time with Ori before his little brother leaves on yet another foolhardy quest. 

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Bilbo says instead, gathering his shopping and taking it to the kitchen.

Nori stays for supper. Tonight, Bilbo makes fried fish with crispy, golden chips, and a green salad (for himself, as Nori, like Ori, doesn’t like “green food”). They eat in silence. It’s not an easy silence, with “Ori” and “Moria” hanging like a ghost between them, but it’s not awkward, either. Nori clearly doesn’t want to talk about it and Bilbo knows better than to pry by now. Nori will bring it up when he’s ready. 

They’re in their customary places in front of the fire, with a good, strong brandy.

They sit in silence, watching the flames dance and cast moving shadows upon the hearth. Nori’s already on his second glass, while Bilbo is still nursing his first. Nori stares into the fire, and Bilbo wonders what he’s seeing in it. Shadow and flame. 

As the minutes drag on with only the crackle and pop of the fire to fill the quiet, Bilbo starts to get fidgety. He drums his fingers on his brandy glass; shifts in his chair. He sets his glass down only to pick it up again almost immediately.

Finally he cracks. 

“Are you going, too?” he blurts out. 

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. So much for not prying. 

Nori tears his gaze from the fire to look at Bilbo with a raised eyebrow.

“I think I’ve done enough ancestral homeland reclaiming for one lifetime, don’t you?” he replies wryly. 

“What about Ori?” 

Nori narrows his eyes at the Hobbit, and for the second time this evening Bilbo wishes he could unsay something. 

“Ori is a grown Dwarf, and perfectly capable of making his own decisions,” Nori says, “No matter how foolish they might be.”

There’s another of those horrid pauses. The fire pops loudly.

“And that’s the exact thing I said to Dori when he opposed Ori going,” Nori admits, softly, bitterly. 

And there it is, Bilbo realizes, the heart of the matter. Guilt. Because whatever may befall the expedition to Moria, Nori will live with the knowledge that he supported Ori’s decision, for good or ill. 

“You don’t want Ori to go,” Bilbo offers, cautiously, “But you also know that it’s not up to you to decide for him.” 

“Of course I don’t want him to go! The Misty Mountains are overrun with orcs and goblins, and Dáin told me… at Azanulbizar he saw…” Nori trails off, his hands so tight on the brandy glass his knuckles are white, and Bilbo’s afraid he might shatter it, “Balin doesn’t think there’s anything more than orcs there.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nori continues, “Ori’s dead set on going. Says they need someone to record it. A historian.” 

Nori heaves a sigh and takes a rather large gulp of brandy, finishing off the glass, and sets it on the wooden table with a thunk that rings with an awful finality. 

Bilbo carefully sets his own glass down, and slowly, deliberately, reaches out. He settles his hand over Nori’s own, and gives a gentle squeeze. 

Nori stares at Bilbo’s hand on his, then slowly brings his gaze up to the Hobbit’s face. 

Time seems to stretch out, as if all the ages of the world were contained within this one moment. Bilbo is reminded, suddenly, of that winter’s night more than two years ago, when Nori’s fingers first closed around Bilbo’s hand. Bilbo suspected, at the time, what it meant, but now the confirmation is written as plain as day upon Nori’s face. This is the most open Bilbo has ever seen his friend, and he’s at a loss for what to do next. 

This is uncharted territory, and there is a fierce battle raging within Bilbo’s mind. The Tookish side is urging him to get closer, to take what’s being offered, while the Baggins half wants nothing more than to run away. His face feels like it’s on fire; his heart is fluttering in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage, and for a wild moment Bilbo’s afraid it might escape. 

“Blackcurrant honey cakes,” Bilbo announces. 

At Nori’s bewildered look, he clarifies, “I bought blackcurrant honey cakes at the market today. We should...” Bilbo swallows with difficulty, “we should eat them now. They’re really best when fresh.” And with that, he gets up and flees to the kitchen, where the world makes sense. 

Once in the kitchen, he heads straight toward the cupboard where he stashed the cakes, debating whether he should bring two or if he should take the lot of them out to the parlour. He opens the cupboard with hands that are _not trembling, dammit,_ and shakily removes the pastries. 

This time, however, he only gets them as far as the countertop. 

He turns, empty handed. 

Nori is there, because of course he is, standing so close Bilbo can feel the heat of his body, his face too open, his eyes simultaneously bright and dark. 

Bilbo licks his lips, and Nori’s eyes trace the motion of Bilbo’s tongue. 

“Oh dear,” Bilbo whispers into the scant space between them, right before he threads his fingers into soft, elaborate hair, and brings his mouth up to meet Nori’s own. 

 

***

 

Afterwards, they’re in bed, with Bilbo’s backside snug against Nori’s front, the Dwarf’s arm slung over Bilbo’s middle. Bilbo rather likes the feeling of someone warm and solid at his back, and for a moment is nostalgic for the Quest, for the hard-won camaraderie of thirteen other fellows. Not that he’d ever done this, back then. Or had even consciously entertained the idea at the time (not with _Nori,_ at least… but that’s a door better left sealed shut, and so Bilbo banishes the thought from his mind. There are enough ghosts for one night.)

Bilbo casts a look back over his shoulder at the Dwarf. The light of the moon streams in through the window, lining the side of Nori’s face in silver. He’s relaxed, or as relaxed as he ever gets, his hair is down, cascading in waves over his shoulders, while his beard and eyebrows are still in braids. 

“Penny for your thoughts, burglar?” Nori murmurs. 

Bilbo raises an eyebrow, “I think you can call me Bilbo, considering I’ve had my cock in your arse.” 

Nori is silent for several moments before bursting into laughter. And there’s another new experience for Bilbo, the feeling of someone laughing while pressed against his body. Bilbo decides he quite likes it. 

“You never cease to surprise me, Bilbo,” Nori says. There’s an undeniable fondness underlining his words, and Bilbo feels like he might have just won the game. 

“Hobbits are just full of surprises,” Bilbo quips, turning on his back so he can bring up an arm to pull Nori down for another kiss. 

***

The mid-morning sunlight streams in through the window, turning the room gold and warming his shoulder. His naked shoulder. In fact, everything is very warm, almost too warm, and very naked. He shifts, groaning a bit at the familiar-but-not-often-experienced soreness, to find an equally naked Dwarf still sharing his bed. 

Bilbo doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nori with all his defenses down, and realizes he enjoys the view. 

Nori’s breathing is slow and even, and Bilbo would’ve thought he was still asleep except for the fact he’s just cracked an eyelid open. 

“Were you planning on staring at me all morning?” Nori asks. 

“I was thinking about it,” Bilbo replies, propping his chin on his hand. 

“Actually,” Bilbo continues, “I was wondering if it could still be called second breakfast if you missed the first.” 

Nori groans and pulls a pillow over his face, “It’s too early for philosophical questions like that.” 

“Well, how about this: if I make an extra big meal it’ll count for both. What would you like for breakfast?” Bilbo asks. 

“Food,” Nori says, voice muffled by the pillow. 

Bilbo watches as the Dwarf shifts until he’s in the shadow, away from the pool of sunlight spread across half the bed. 

“I’ll call you when it’s ready,” Bilbo says, pulling on a loose shirt, but not bothering with trousers, “Don’t fall back asleep.”

Nori grunts in response. Bilbo smiles, feeling a warmth that has nothing to do with the sun. 

Whatever the future may hold, this moment will remain with him forever.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this! It was super fun to write, and refreshing to tackle a rare pair (a rare pair i personally adore).


End file.
